


Finale

by hannibaby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibaby/pseuds/hannibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just needed a way to escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finale

It was all becoming too much. Mutilated corpses, their bodies twisted and broken, lay before him. Though their pale lips spat lies and their hands reached out as if beckoning him to join them, he found a morbid comfort in them. The finality of death.

How was he to continue like this, locked in this game, unable to escape even if he wanted to? The nightmares would haunt him forever. Their deaths were perfectly recreated in his mind, their final moments played out before him over and over again as he watched, helpless to do anything but scream. But how could he walk away, how could he leave these people’s deaths unanswered for? Surely his sanity was a small price to pay.

He paced across his room, feet lightly scratching against the worn carpet beneath his feet, hands scrunched roughly in his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, an act of defiance against his suffocating reality. If he could just keep them shut long enough he would wake up, pull himself out of the present and away from the pain. He would do anything to escape the pain.

He stopped.

It would be so easy, so quick. Instant.

No, he shouldn’t. But he wanted to. He untangled his fingers from his damp hair and opened his eyes, squinting slightly as he adjusted to the dim light from his bedside lamp. He could be free.

He made his way downstairs and into the basement, curious dogs following him loyally. It didn’t take long to find. He took the rifle into his hands, his breath shaky as he blew the dust from it. He rarely used it, wasn’t really the hunting type. He would be his first kill.

Back in his bedroom, he stared blankly at the wall. Had it really come to this? His eyes brimmed with tears that refused to spill over. He pointed the rifle at his chest, at his head, put it in his mouth. The cool metal scared and comforted him, bringing with it the promise of rest. 

He would be gone in a moment, but would it feel like that to him? Perhaps he would feel those last few moments as if they were hours. Maybe every millisecond would feel like an eternity, his mind acutely aware of its own mortality as it ticked down the moments before it was extinguished forever.

He looked at his dogs sadly; two of them had followed him into the room. He walked over to them, squatting down to scratch their ears before shooing them out. His weak body slid down the closed door, cool wood caressing hot skin, as he took the rifle up once more. 

It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t painless, but it was freeing. That was all he could ask for.


End file.
